Too Much Too Late
by Michael Ho
Summary: A crucial missing moment, from chapter 9 of Deathly Hallows, right after Harry, Ron, and Hermione's arrival at Grimmauld Place, and Harry's scar begins to burn again.


**Too Much, Too Late**

"Bathroom," Harry muttered as he stumbled quickly from the room. Hermione watched him go as she sat of the sofa, her left arm draped over Ron, whose right arm was pressed against her back as it rested on the cushions. Their other arms lay before them, their hands clasped tightly.

"Is he okay?" she asked, looking back at Ron. She'd been focused on Ron, and hadn't quite heard what Harry had said.

Ron stared into space for a moment, then quickly breathed out, and turned back to Hermione. "Would he tell us if he wasn't?"

She looked at him, realizing how close they were to each other. She could still feel tiny tremors from his hand; she could see the wetness at the corner of his eyes. He'd been terrified for his family; she knew it, she could feel it. And now he was staring at her, as she had stared at him a moment ago, when she asked about the sleeping bags. She couldn't remember if Ron had answered her or not.

Then Ron moved toward her, and everything rushed through Hermione's mind in an instant.

Only an hour or two ago they'd been dancing. Ron had surprised her; he wasn't bad at all. She asked him where he'd learned. He started to say something about a book, then blushed and muttered that Molly had made sure everyone had practiced in the weeks before the wedding.

It wasn't just dancing. As they'd whirled around the dance floor Ron had pointed at different guest, and told her stories and jokes about Weasley relatives and family friends as they danced past them. He had asked her about her family life as well, and listened as she answered. They both moved a little stiffly and clumsily at first, but soon were laughing enough that the occasional accidents didn't matter.

She'd watched Ron watching her as they moved. She could tell he was nervous, but forcing himself to relax. She found her heart beating faster, her body tingling. He was tall, and...yes, handsome. The band played a slow dance, and she'd wondered if his nervousness would overcome him–but it didn't. With an effort she found intensely sweet, he'd kept his voice almost even and the conversation going just as before, even as his hand pressed warmly against her back, and she'd felt, as she leaned against him, the intensity of his feelings. She'd found herself returning the pressure, pushing against him, softly but insistently, while staring at him and lowering her voice as they spoke. She couldn't say what she was trying to do, and didn't even try to make sense of her own actions.

The slow dance ended, and they'd moved apart, though still holding each others sweaty hands, giggling like children. Then there was more talking, mor joking, and another slow dance, and she couldn't keep on; her heart was almost bursting from her chest. She'd said her feet hurt, and Ron had rushed her to Harry's table, then set off to find them something to drink, as she gulped in air. And then...Kingsley's Patronus, and she'd screamed for Ron. And then everything that followed in a rush. Nearly being killed or captured at the café off Tottenham Court. The terrifying jinxes at the door of Grimmauld Place. The fright of Arthur Weasley's Patronus. The excitement was...too much.

And now Ron was leaning in to kiss her. She wanted him too, didn't she?

Their lips touched tentatively, and Hermione was overwhelmed with a hunger for the taste. She pulled Ron even closer with left hand, her fingers spreading into his beautiful hair, as she felt his hand clutching at her rumpled dress. She deepened the kiss; she felt Ron's tongue. He broke away just for a moment, only for a breath, but she barely gave him even that, instead pulling his head back towards hers. His lips went to her cheek, her chin, started on her throat. Her feelings ran riot, her thoughts bouncing through a haze of pleasure. Finally, after all this time, after Lavender, after everything, they could...what?

What could they do with Death Eaters hunting for them? What they could they do with Harry depending upon them? Where was Harry? Didn't they need to be there for him all the time? Didn't he depend upon her–upon both of them. She realized she'd lost track of time. She pulled back suddenly, releasing Ron, who fell towards her then stopped himself, his gaze hot and searching.

"Ron, I, I..." Hermione felt at loss for words. He understood, didn't he? "I had such a good time at the wedding and I...I wish we weren't here, but we are, and it's..."

"No, er, you're right, Hermione, you're right." Ron stammered, and his grin seemed both sheepish and desperate. "I mean, it's just...not...

"Not a good time," she said, hoping he knew what she meant to say.

"Right, absolutely, it's been...been an exciting day." Ron was glancing around, then back at her, forcing a chuckle.

"Too exciting," Hermione said, nodding.

"Yes...and...and it's late." Ron swallowed, then smiled "Er, you should...that is, why don't you sleep on the sofa? Really, you, you need it."

Hermione breathed deeply, trying to get her feelings under control. Must make sure Harry's okay, she decided, then get to sleep. Ron was already reaching into her bag, rummaging around for the sleeping bags. He was...so sweet, sometimes. "Thank you, Ron...that's...that's kind of you." She knew she should say something more, but was remembering the feel of his lips, his body against hers, and fell silent. Why had he kissed her now? Why had he waited so long? When would they have time to say everything that needed to be said? She sat for a moment, willing the heat inside her to subside.

Ron was spreading out the bags, saying something about how he'd often slept outside or on the floors all around the Burrow, and that Harry had slept in far worse places then this. Harry's name gave Hermione something to focus on. She reached for her bag, then peered in, finding and pulling out a small toiletry kit.

"I need to find Harry." She knew she sounded silly, but couldn't seem to stop herself from talking. "He'll need his toothbrush." She stood up quickly, then looked down at Ron, who was smoothing out the sleeping bags on the floor.

"Harry?" Ron said it more like a statement then a question. He was looking at her, and Hermione couldn't tell what was in his eyes.

"Let me check on him. I mean–that's why we're here, right?" She said it lightly, meaning it to be a joke. Ron smiled, which relieved her. She knew he'd understand, and she walked out of the drawing room. She knew he would.


End file.
